System XNBBl-2, Cassandrian Space, 625.2 A.E. (Age of Exploration)

Twenty gods on a one-way shuttle. There was probably a joke in there, as Wilco kept reminding me. I couldn’t see it, though. The only thing I was concerned about was the reaction of the Cassandrians. So far, little had changed in the system. The flow of drones had momentarily reacted to my engine boost, but quickly fell back into their routine the moment I stopped. In other circumstances, I would have run a series of short- and long-range scans to detect any other enemy presence, but given my current orders and the precariousness of the situation, I had to rely on simulations.

Of the twenty Swords that were selected to go on this absurd mission, only three were of significance: Rain, Blight, and Fire. They were among the ten percent that had the most detailed knowledge of the Cassandrian subspecies that held the ship, making them the fastest to react to anything that happened aboard. It was a gamble sending them out. If the mission failed, resulting in their final shutdown, we’d have only Sword of Spheres to rely on.

I had offered to construct full battle gear customized to everyone’s specific measurements, but was turned down. According to Sword of Fire, the less hostile the group appeared, the greater the chance of success. With a force of twenty, the only thing sidearms could do was increase the chances of capture. I didn’t have enough data to run the numbers, but decided to trust him on that.

Meanwhile, the shuttle I had constructed went through further adjustments. One of the Cassandrian prisms was installed, along with a secondary power source. The hope was that it would provide a bubble of protection to the shuttle, allowing it to approach the Cassandrian ship unharmed. In theory, there was a seventy-three percent chance of success.

“Removing one of the devices will make me vulnerable,” I reminded the captain.

“The shuttle will be brought back if the breach is successful,” Wilco replied. He was trying to hide his concern, but not so well as to fool my behavior analytics. “Once they finish searching the ship, we’ll pull them back.”

It was notable that he used the word “once.” By my estimates, the chance of that happening was less than seventeen percent.

“Understood, Captain. The crew’s boarded the shuttle. I need your permission to open the hangar doors.”

“Shuttle crew, you’ve got the green light. Let them out, Elcy.”

The doors opened. The mission was underway. From this distance, it took twenty-seven seconds for the shuttle to attach to the drifting ship—far too close for my liking, even if it was estimated that the prism artifacts would provide greater protection. Every hundred milliseconds, I had my subroutines do a full visual comparison of the visible space around me. So far, there were no anomalies or unusual behavior.

Before the ship left the hangar, twenty voxel position comm link requests were sent. This was the first time I had heard of so many ships being linked simultaneously though this method. As any battleship, I approved them all.

You’ll be our backup on this, kid, Sword of Fire said immediately. Keep a backup of all feeds, external if you have to. Whatever happens, I want you to have all the data.

I haven’t received the captain’s approval, I replied.

I’m giving you approval as CO, and ordering that you go on with it.

This was why I disliked retirees returning to the service. According to general law, they were considered to be human, so they had the right to issue me such orders as per Fleet regulations. It had already been established that Sword of Fire was second in command; Wilco himself had given that order. That pretty much granted the ship broad authority to issue anything as long as it wasn’t in conflict with any priority zero orders.

In theory, I had every right to ask the captain for confirmation, which I knew I wouldn’t get. Despite the dubious nature of the order, though, I agreed with it. Humanity, not to mention the current mission, needed as much information as possible.

Starting backup I reassigned twenty of my subroutines. Twenty feeds.

Let us know if anything changes in the system, Sword of Fire said, without a thank you.

The Cassandrian ship seemed unremarkable up close. I didn’t have the schematics for this model, but had a general idea of the common breach points used in previous battles. In this instance, the target was one of the central spots along the starboard side of the ship. When the shuttle got within a distance of ten meters, though, a part of the hull opened up.

“Red alert. Confirmed Cassandrian activity,” I announced on the screen, providing three images of my personal sensors. “I’m ready to jump to the escape coordinates on your order.”

“Threat analysis.” Wilco stood up from his seat. “I want theories on this.”

“The opening matches fighter launches, sir.” I looped the moment of the opening while displaying similar images from my memory. In all instances, it was the same: the hull would twist open, like an organic iris lock, and release a column of fighter ships. “I recommend we jump out.”

“Noted. Anyone else?”

“There’ve been no instances of a single ship sortie,” Sword of Jewels said. “More likely it’s a defense mechanism.”

“It’s too big to be a missile launch.” Sword of Spheres crossed his arms. “Some sort of close-range countermeasures?” He turned to a tall, dark man beside him. According to the files, that was Sword of Judgement—possibly the oldest ship aboard, even if he didn’t hold the record for most battles.

“Too slow for countermeasures,” Judgement noted. “Probably an ident check.”

The crew of the shuttle had also witnessed the unexpected behavior. I could hear them through the voxel connection, having the same discussions and arguments as we were having on the bridge. No one was certain what was going on. As time passed, a consensus began to form. Sword of Fire held the shuttle in place, ready to boost out if needed. The opening remained unbothered by the hesitation. After another ten seconds, I downgraded the alert level to yellow—if the ship was going to perform any aggressive actions, it would have done so already. The Cassandrians weren’t known for their patience.

“What are your orders, sir?” I asked Wilco.

“Is there anything we can do, dear girl?” the man asked. “Keep monitoring the situation. It’s Fire’s call from here on.”

“Understood.” I transmitted the conversation through the voxel connection.

Link me to the bridge, Sword of Fire ordered, to my surprise. There was no known instance in which a ship had revealed the existence of the voxel means of communication to a human, and still the Sword was asking me to do that. Wilco knew there was no normal comm line between me and the shuttle. Tell him it’s a double helix. That’s an order.

Military protocols kicked in. There was no way that the captain would believe such an explanation, yet I had no choice but to go on with it. The visual feed of the Sword of Fire appeared on the wall, putting an end to all conversations.

“You were supposed to remain dark,” Wilco said. I could detect that he was annoyed, though not surprised.

“We have a working theory, captain.” The Sword went straight to the point. “Analyzing the situation, we suspect that the ship’s behavior is in response to the prism aboard the shuttle. Given that the ship and the artifact are of a similar time period, there’s a ninety-three percent chance that it’s reacting to its presence.”

“You mean it’s inviting you home?”

“No, sir. I suspect the ship is surrendering to us.”

Surrendering to us…

No such thing should have been possible. In the entire history of the second-contact war, there was no case of a Cassandrian ship or ground critter surrendering. Even when faced with an impossible situation, they would keep on fighting, attempting to deal as much damage as possible. It went beyond loyalty or devotion, bringing rise to speculation that the Cassandrians had behavior imperatives preventing them from doing so. Given what I had learned from this mission, I could confirm that to be the fact. And still, I, along with my captain and the forty crew members, were staring at what was supposed to be impossible.

“Keep the artifact with you at all times,” Wilco ordered. “Fly in up to where you can and have two teams start the exploration. You and the rest stay at the artifact until you receive further instructions.”

“Understood, although I don’t think that’s the optimal mission plan,” Sword of Fire voiced a subtle protest.

“It is if you know what you’re dealing with,” the captain said. “Let me know everything you see or do. And I want all feeds to be instantly displayed at all times.”

Immediately, I displayed the remaining nineteen feeds. Most of them were focusing on a similar area, but once the mission started, there was no doubt they would diverge into groups.

“Is there further information that will help us on our mission, sir?” I asked. It was too forward a question for a ship, but after five years of serving under Augustus, I had learned when to be tactful and when not.

“You’re getting eager again,” Wilco said, avoiding the question. “Focus on what you can do and not on the things you can’t. Everything else is up to me.”

“Yes, sir.” I didn’t like the answer or his attitude, but had to comply nonetheless.

The shuttle continued on for approximately fifty meters until it reached what appeared to be the end of the hangar section. Was that technology that the Cassandrians had developed, or had they reverse engineered it from us?

The shuttle continued on until it became entirely engulfed in darkness. Nothing but the internal instruments and external guide lights provided any light. In a few seconds, Sword of Fire ordered them turned off as well—the Cassandrians did not need light, and for the duration of the mission, the teams would have to mimic Cassandrians.

“Two teams,” the Sword said, entirely for the captain’s benefit. “Blight and Rain. Bridge and reactor. Take your pick.”

It was speculated that every Cassandrian ship class had a similar layout. However, that wasn’t entirely the case. The main modules were where they should have been, but the connecting corridors often varied. During my shipyard refitting, I had heard stories of breach teams having to burn their way through internal walls to reach where they were supposed to go. With ten people that would prove impossible.

“I’ll take the bridge,” Sword of Rain said. “Anything alive should be there.”

“That leaves the reactor.” Sword of Blight mused. “Sounds good. Do we use cutters?”

“No cutters,” Wilco said.

“We might not get very far without them, sir.” Fire countered. “We’re already inside. There’s no point in—”

“I said no cutters. I don’t want anything damaged. If you can’t go forward, we reevaluate. You can take lights, anything that would make you go faster, but no weapons, cutters, or sharp objects. You follow the trail, that’s all.”

“Understood.” I didn’t have to be linked to the Sword’s core to tell that he wasn’t pleased with the order. Still, like me, he had no option but to obey. “Mission starts in thirty seconds.”

Thirty seconds was an incredibly long period to leave the shuttle. After a moment, I saw why. Every member of the scouting teams had their spacesuits thoroughly sprayed with an unidentified substance. If it wasn’t for Wilco removing my memory restrictions, I probably wouldn’t have even seen it. The spray canisters were basic, covered with restricted ident bars, making any analysis impossible.

“What is that?” I asked on the bridge.

“Camouflage spray,” Wilco said without further explanation.

I attempted to run an analysis, but my subroutine instantly disengaged, ending the process. Whatever this was, its classification was higher than anything I’d ever encountered.

Thirty seconds on the dot, ten ships left the shuttle. The mission had begun. Initially, the group continued together until they reached the end of the hangar. The faint torches they were using provided just enough light for me to make out the details. I had to reconstruct the image entirely to make it identifiable for the captain.

“We’ve reached the end of the hangar area,” Sword of Rain said. “The material is hard to the touch, resembling the outer hull. Permission to conduct material analysis?”

“Keep on going.” Wilco denied the request on the spot. “That’s not what you’re there for.”

“Understood. Starting to search for a door.”

The feeds separated. Everyone took a different section of the area. For over a minute, I watched them attempt to find an opening without success, until at one point, without warning or indication, four irises opened.

“That’s new,” Wilco said. “Boarding party, review all actions. I want to know what did this. Teams one and two, head in. I don’t want that to close on you.”

“There’s no apparent reason I can find,” Sword of Blight said, as he went further in the Cassandrian ship. “I’d say it’s either a timed reaction or proximity based, possibly both. Whatever the case, it was an emergency reaction. No ship opens all hatches at once, even Cassies.”

“Keep moving, but be on guard,” Wilco ordered. He somewhat reminded me of Augustus during a dark op—focused to the extreme, giving out as little information as possible.

“Do you think they’ll find something there, sir?” I asked on the bridge.

“Maybe,” Wilco said, the tension clear in his voice. “Be ready to jump out. We might find something we don’t like.”

The inside of the Cassandrian ship was more like a hive than a vessel. It was as if someone had taken a planetary colony, molded it into the shape of a ship, and surrounded it with hull armor. The large elements—propulsion systems, power core, weapon systems, even ship hangars shared some characteristics with ours. Everything else, though, was completely alien. In the past, when most of the elements were censured behind layers of black pixels, I had assumed the design to be based on standard ship architecture. It was incredible how off I had been.

For hours, the teams continued along corridors without rhyme and reason. Each time they went by a juncture, a tech node, or a chamber of some sort, I would note it on the live blueprint I was creating of the ship. I had mentioned that having such would help humanity construct more efficient weapons against our enemy on the bridge, to no response. The captain didn’t seem to be overly concerned, and as for the Swords, they let me know that I was doing a fool’s errand.

Why, though? I wondered.

The Salvage Authorities would give anything to have access to an intact ship such as this. If they knew of its existence, they would likely even send an entire flotilla behind enemy lines just to claim it. And still Wilco treated it like jettisoned scrap.

“Three hours since breach,” I informed everyone. “I haven’t detected any additional Cassandrians.”

“Teams, what's your ETA?” Wilco asked.

“We should already be in the area of the bridge,” Sword of Rain replied. It didn’t take any elaboration for us to see that wasn’t the case. Or rather, the bridge was nothing like what we had expected. I had seen fragments of a Cassandrian bridge before. This was nothing like that. It was as if the entire section had been sealed off and filled up with some unidentified material, possibly organic. “We’ve tried a few alternative routes. I don’t think there’s any direct access. Do you want us to drill though?”

There was a moment’s hesitation.

“No,” Wilco said, the word filled with regret. “Get back to the shuttle.”

“Aye.”

“Reactor team, what about you?”

“Difficult to say,” Sword of Blight replied. “Everything’s dead and sealed off. I’ve no idea what’s keeping the ship going. They must be in power preservation mode.”

I watched him push against what appeared to be a wall. It didn’t budge a millimeter.

“Permanent preservation mode. Anything non-vital seems to be sealed off.”

“What is considered vital, though?” Sword of Spheres asked. “Given that the bridge was sealed off, everything left must have been seen as more important than command.”

“What about weapons? Wilco asked.

“So far, there’ve been twenty-eight unexplored tunnels.” I marked the locations on the map I had composed, then superimposed it on the external ship design. “Three could potentially lead to missile sections.”

“That’s too many to search.”

“I haven’t seen any active weapon systems,” Sword of Rain said. “It appears that those aren’t vital either.”

“Weapons and bridge aren’t vital, but hangars are?” Sword of Spheres asked.

“Fire, how are you doing?”

“Counting the milliseconds till your next order,” the Sword replied.

“If the outer hangar closes, can you get there without help from us?”

“Not a chance. Even if the ship is dead, we have nothing that can pierce the hull. You’ll need a drill missile to make us an opening.”

“Will you survive the impact?”

“There’s enough space for it. What are you thinking, sir?”

“There’s only one reason I can think of for one Cassandrian to surrender to another. Once that has been achieved, I don’t think there would be any reason for the husk to be kept functioning.”

I dedicated all my free subroutines to run a complex simulation of the situation. As far as I could determine, there were several potential reasons, given what I had observed in the last three hours. The most likely possibility was that some infestation had occurred on the ship, causing it to be avoided by any other Cassandrians. The reason it had surrendered was because it had considered us a Cassandrian and was biologically programmed to allow itself to be dismantled by other subspecies. Or maybe it had been constantly trying to repair itself and considered us a support vessel. That wasn’t what Wilco wanted. Knowing him, there was a ninety-seven percent chance that he hoped for an artifact aboard.

“It’s a colony ship, Fire,” Wilco went on. “This might not have been what we came for, but we can’t let such an opportunity slip by.”

“The Cassandrians had decades to take it, but they left it floating in orbit. There must be something wrong with it.”

“I’ll take the risk. We’re getting the artifact and taking it aboard even if I have to quarantine half the ship.”

The tone said it all. There was no point in arguing or trying to convince him. Technically, Wilco hadn’t issued an order, but he might as well have. He wasn’t taking no for an answer, even if I had to go against mission limitations and cannibalize what material I could to construct a drill missile. Running a few simulations, I hoped it wouldn’t come to that.

Time ticked on. All focus was on Blight’s group as they made their way to the ship’s reactor. The further they went, the fewer options they had to deviate from the main path. Soon the path was reduced to a single winding tunnel moving on. Finally, after thirty-four minutes and eleven seconds, they had arrived at the reactor.

There was no official Fleet schematic of a Cassandrian reactor. The only information that the bureaucratic apparatus let filter through were base specs: size, density, and estimated energy output. From what I had glimpsed in Blight’s memory fragments, I estimated that the enemy generators would be a biological copy of a human reactor. Observing Blight’s video feed now, I saw how mistaken I—and the entire Fleet—were.

One single energy node was responsible for procuring all the power to the battleship. That was more energy output than my own engines could hope to achieve. But as shocking as that revelation was, it paled in comparison to what followed—the center of the node held a six-sided prism only slightly larger than a med-bot.

“I knew it,” Wilco whispered, mesmerized by the sight.

“There are high levels of radiation here,” Blight said, keeping his distance from the artifact. “The source is spread out throughout the chamber, but it isn’t the artifact. There’s a seventeen percent chance it tried to build a colony here and survive in space. It’s more likely that this is a result of the sealing process. The chamber must have been closed off recently. Months, maybe less. We can stay a few hours more before needing treatment.”

“Move closer to the artifact.”

Even through the limited feed of a spacesuit, I could admire the brilliance. If humanity could duplicate the technology, the size of our fleets would triple within a decade, not to mention that the speed of planetary colonization would increase by a factor of eleven. With that, the R&D divisions could create weapons capable of destroying entire fleets with a single missile. Although, if that were really the case, why hadn’t the Cassandrians used such firepower against us?

“That’s it. It’s the big one. Extract it.”

“That’s a bad idea, Captain,” Sword of Blight said. “Not to mention impossible. The node has it tight. It would be like cutting through the ship’s hull.”

“Give me options.” Drops of sweat formed on Wilco’s forehead.

I could tell that this was something he had been chasing after his entire professional life—a Cassandrian colony artifact. Using it, our enemies had anchored themselves to planets, transforming them into platforms to launch further attacks. This small object had the potential to power up battleships and even possibly create an entire subspecies of Cassandrians. I spent several milliseconds considering that thought. After centuries, humanity could finally have its first Cassandrian prisoners—a species to analyze and study, maybe even learn to communicate. If that happened, the Fleet would have gained a definitive advantage. The second longest war in human history could well come to an abrupt end with us as the victor.

“Blasting is out of the question,” Sword of Fire said. “We could potentially cut it out. As long as we use mechanical instruments, the artifact will be safe. No guarantee about the organic wrapping.”

“Forget the wrapping. Elcy, build another shuttle. And prep anything that could cut through Cassandrian hull armor. Time is no issue.”

“Right away.” I dedicated a dozen subroutines to the task.

“The wrapper won’t be a problem,” Sword of Blight said from near proximity to the artifact. “It’s dead like the rest of the ship. Whatever energy this thing had, it’s mostly gone. Want me to try to shove it loose?”

“I would advise against it,” I immediately said. “Artifacts are to be handled with care.”

“If it blows up at this, it’ll blow up when we try to cut it out,” the Sword said. He too had had experience with third-contact artifacts.

“Go ahead.” Wilco gave his permission. “Just be careful.”

When Wilco said “be careful,” everyone understood he meant careful not to harm the artifact.

I watched Blight make a full circle around the energy node. Most likely he was running simulations within his core, trying to figure out the way in which to tackle it so as to have the greatest chance of success. After seven seconds, he took out a small utility knife from his gear and slowly inserted it in what appeared to be a fissure between the artifact proper and the node surrounding it. The blade sank in with ease.

“it must have been running for quite a while,” Sword of Spheres noted on my bridge. “And at full capacity. Maybe that’s what caused the ship to take this orbit. It was having power issues to begin with.”

Slowly, Blight pushed the blade to the side. There was initial resistance, but it seemed to slowly break through with relative ease. If the progress continued to be so smooth, there was a chance he might extract the item long before I had constructed the second shuttle.

Suddenly there was a loud, audible crack. Wilco’s pulse hastened.

“Did you shake it loose?” he asked with hope and fear.

“Aye,” the sword replied. “But you’re not going to like it.”

The focus of the feed moved down, centering on one of the prism’s edges. It didn’t take long for everyone to see the discrepancy: the tip of the artifact had broken off.

“It isn’t third-contact, sir,” the Sword said. On the bridge, Wilco had gone deathly quiet, staring forward in disbelief. “The Cassandrians must have copied it somehow. That’s why they let us in. The ship wasn’t surrendering; it was the dying reflex of something wanting to be saved.”